He Once Was
by scribblingfortheheckofit
Summary: In which England takes a surprise journey into what he once was, and will be again. According to Thomas Mallory, anyway. Rated for language and not-subtle implications.
1. Parsley

England managed to walk calmly through his door and close it as gently as his temper would let him, before falling back to lean on the door and dropping his still open umbrella. His eyes closed automatically as he reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"Well, that was," he muttered to himself, trying to think of a way to sum up his day at the conference, "complete and utter bollocks."

Of course, that didn't even begin to cover the disastrous lack of productivity that had been the meeting. They may actually have undone some of yesterday's work. England thought of that, and the mountains of paperwork waiting for him on his desk, and for once in a very long while decided, fuck that, I'm going to bed.

He managed to haul himself up the stairs to his bedroom, undoing his tie on the way, and threw the offending bit of silk at the wardrobe as soon as he walked through the door. He toed his shoes off and left them just inside the doorway, then shrugged out of his suit jacket before collapsing onto his bed.

"Why?" he asked no one in particular, his voice slightly muffled by his duvet. "Why did I agree to host this? Why couldn't I have let Germany do it again?"

The reasons were already floating through his head, even as he complained, and he winced as he remembered sharing a hotel room with America the previous year, and France the year before. But knowing it could be worse so rarely actually makes a person feel better, and England was done with being responsible for the day.

Well, almost, at any rate. He forced himself to get up off the bed and undress, setting the shirt aside to be laundered another time, and hanging his jacket up so it wouldn't seem too rumpled in the morning. His pyjamas were still haphazardly thrown on the floor from that morning, and he winced again at the memory of his chaotic rush out the door. And that had only been the beginning.

Everything that could have gone wrong, every single fucking thing, had gone wrong, and the most he hoped for was that he could fall asleep and let the day pass. Not even tea could fix this. There was only the thought that tomorrow could not possibly be any worse.

"Fuck all," he muttered to himself. "I've just cursed myself, haven't I?" The empty house obviously didn't answer, but he rolled his eyes at the silence anyway. "Well, nothing for it now."

With that, England climbed into bed, wrapping himself tightly in his sheets, and welcomed the warm oblivion of sleep.

* * *

He woke the next morning disoriented, and for a split second after opening his eyes didn't even recognise his own bedroom. Even after he shook himself and came into full consciousness, he'd felt off somehow, uneasy even though he didn't know why. He'd been dreaming, he knew, but remembered only a few moments clearly.

First, oddly enough, was North Ireland in his garden, cutting herbs. About half-way through a row, he'd stopped and turned abruptly, and called out "England?" even as he cut through the stem of a parsley sprig. He'd listened for a moment, shook his head, and returned to his herbs.

There was also a hazy vision of a lake, with mountains behind it, surrounded by willow trees and lilies. It had been clear and strikingly blue, and resonated peace, even as it shifted farther and farther out of focus. He remembered exactly how his dream self had sighed and closed his eyes, feeling only calm.

The only other image that had stayed with him was a woman, with the deepest blue eyes he had ever seen, staring at him. He remembered her green dress shimmering even in the half-light, and her golden hair curling all around her. "Do you remember me, Arthur?" she'd asked, and he'd had no idea how to respond.

Unsettling as it had been, he shook off most of the lingering vertigo and turned his thoughts to much more pressing matters. He had to undo the damage that America had done yesterday, as well as make his own points, and keep the peace... Sometimes, he wished it could all just stop, that the world would just leave him alone.

But then one of his brothers would be left to represent his country, and that would be disastrous no matter what. He couldn't just leave the United Kingdom. And no one else new quite how to tell America how ridiculous his ideas were.

He put the kettle on automatically, and set about organizing his papers until it whistled. After a cup of tea and a piece of toast, he pulled himself back up the stairs for a shower, and dressed as efficiently as possible, cursing himself all the while for not getting anything done the night before.

"At least there's only one more day of this," he muttered to himself. "Then I'll have until August to myself."

But he frowned all the same. It was May Day, and while most of his people treated it as just another day at this point, he remembered the festivals of yesteryear, and they brought a nostalgic smile to his face. May Day was the last day he wanted to be locked in a conference, and surely the other nations thought the same. He couldn't be the only one who still thought fondly of the holiday.

England sighed to himself, but sat down to start on some of the paperwork he should have done the night before, with a fresh cup of tea. He had about an hour before he needed to leave, and fully intended to do something productive with the time.

This plan was, of course, thrown to shit when Flying Mint Bunny landed on the pile of unfinished papers, and squeaked at him. England grinned, but simultaneously cursed the universe for conspiring against his work. It would never get done at this rate, and with the fairy rabbit around, he was likely to be late for the conference.

"What are you doing here?" he asked the bunny, laughter creeping into his voice despite his irritation. He could never be angry with Flying Mint Bunny. "You haven't come to see me for weeks. Why now?"

The bunny made a noise almost like a giggle, then stole England's pen. "Hey! I need that," the nation said, chuckling a little despite himself, and he chased the bunny around his office a few times before following it out into the front room of his house. "I mean it, I need the pen back!"

The fact that there were five more pens easily accessible in his desk was irrelevant. His friends weren't allowed to steal things, especially things he was using at the time. Even Flying Mint Bunny had to follow the rules.

So when Flying Mint Bunny flew out the door, England gave chase, throwing the doors wide so he could run through. He tore off into the forrest after the creature, coat unbuttoned and flapping behind him, calling out taunts and obscenities the whole way.

* * *

The conference started at nine o'clock, officially. However, as the clock struck nine, all the nations present remained silent, staring at the one empty chair.  
France was the one who finally broke the silence, five painful minutes later. "I cannot be the only one who wonders how our Angleterre is late for the conference that he is hosting," the nation said. "It is most unlike him."

"I say give him an hour, then we worry," America said from across the table. "He could have just gotten caught in traffic or something."

Germany nodded, internally shocked at himself for it. "I agree," he said, cringing even as he spoke. "We can start without him for now."

"If he has not arrived by the lunch hour, I will go and look for him myself," France said, looking around and daring any of the other nations to challenge him.

All present simply nodded, except America. "If it comes down to that," he announced, "I'm going too." France tilted his head in concession, and America smiled. "Now, if that's all good, I know England was going to start off, but I have some important things I want to talk about."

A groan rang through the conference room, but the young nation started his presentation anyway.

* * *

Arthur found himself lost in the woods, regardless of how absurd it was to be lost in his own country, with no idea which way he'd come from and completely alone. "Flying Mint Bunny?" he called, even as he accepted that it was useless. "You're just going to leave me here, you useless bloody rabbit?"

His words just echoed through the trees, as did his curses, whether he screamed or barely breathed them. He turned around and around, looking for anything. Something he recognised. A way to tell which way was north. Anything.

"Hullo, sir," said a small voice. England spun to find a small girl looking up at him, with bright blue eyes and a sweet smile. For a moment, his mind raced back to the day he'd found America, a toddler running around in the wilderness.

"Are you lost?"

He shook his head, clearing it of the image. "I think so," he admitted, bending down so he was eye to eye with the child. "I shouldn't be, but I am."

"Well, where are you going?" she asked, cocking her head to the side slightly. "Scarborough? St. Ives? Babylon?"

"Camlann," he said without even thinking, then blinked, and shook his head. "No, that's not what I meant. I need to be back in London. Now, actually."

The girl laughed, and her laughter was like pure sunshine. "I'll show you the way home," she said, grabbing his hand and pulling him along. England stumbled after her, struggling to keep up despite his much longer legs. "Follow me."

"But the path goes that way," England protested weakly, only to hear her laughter again. "Or that way. Shouldn't we..."

"We aren't taking the path, silly."

* * *

"Well, his car is still here, so I assume he never left. But I haven't seen any sign of him at all," America said, turning to France. He rolled his eyes when he saw the other nation trying to peek through a window. "Dude, wouldn't it be easier to just knock?"

France shrugged, and waved dismissively at America. "You do things your way," he said, not even looking over his shoulder. "I shall do mine."

"Whatever, dude," America said, shaking his head as he walked around the corner to the front of the house. He was back a few moments later, though, saying, "Uh, you know the door is wide open, right?"

At this, France nearly fell over as he spun to face the younger nation. "What?" he asked, voice shrill and eyes panicked.

"Yeah, that would probably be a bad sign, huh?" America said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly as France continued to stare at him. "Should we check it out?"

France nodded, and they both took off at a run towards the front door.

* * *

The little girl lead him by the hand for long enough that he lost track of time completely. He questioned her only once, when they passed through thick enough fog that he could barely see her. "Are you sure this is the way?" he asked, chewing nervously on his lip.

"Of course," she said, turning around and fixing her bright blue eyes on him. "I'm taking you home. You'll see!"

After that, they continued walking, until the girl stopped just outside a clearing. England blinked once, looked around, and scowled. "I don't know what game you're playing," he said slowly, "But I demand that you take me back to London. I'm in no mood for this kind of prank, and I certainly will not stand for..."

"Arthur, I'm going to ask you once and only once," the girl said, turning and fixing her big blue eyes on him again. "You can go back to your meetings and your papers and your frustrations, or you can walk into that clearing and have peace."

England blinked rapidly, and pressed his lips into a thin line.

"So what do you want?"

For a moment, he really thought he was going to tell her to take him back to London. He was going to go back to his people, the nation he could feel racing through his blood and hear ringing in his ears.

Instead he walked through the trees and into the sunlit clearing, and the hum of the nation quieted to a whisper. Standing before him was the same woman from his dream, golden hair brighter and eyes bluer in real life than he could have imagined.

"Hello, Arthur," she said, her smile just barely kissing the corners of her mouth. "It's been so long. I was starting to wonder if you would ever come back to me."

He took a second to swallow thickly, and clear his head, before stammering, "I-I'm sorry, love, but you, well, you seem to have me mistaken." She shook her head, and walked towards him. "I really do apologise, but I'm not who you think I am."

The woman, if that was what she was, let a single pale finger trace his jawline, then down the contours of his throat. England shivered. "I'm not," she said, her breath flowing cool over his cheek as she leaned forward. "You are my Arthur."

She kissed him then, though he was too shocked for a few seconds. Even then, his body realised what was happening before his brain did, so he found himself with his bottom lip between her teeth before he could even think about how insane this all was. As soon as he did, his eyes snapped open, and he pushed her back.

"Hold," he gasped, drawing in a shaky breath before trying again. "Hold a second. How do you know my name?"

"Arthur, dearest," she said, smirking a little at his flushed cheeks. "Don't you remember me?"

"No, love. I've never seen you before in my life." He brought a hand self consciously to his tie, only to find it loose, and the top few buttons of his shirt undone. "And this is completely inappropriate for..."

She kissed him again, and this time it took even longer for him to pull away. By that time, his coat was lost somewhere, and her hands were sliding across the skin of his shoulders. Her eyes flashed with triumph as she asked, "Are you sure?"

"Maybe if you keep trying to remind me..."


	2. Sage

England woke surrounded by green, to the sound of birdsong. It was odd though, because he didn't recognise any of the songs, and he'd thought himself a reasonable birdwatcher.

He wrote it off as just his being tired, then started to roll back over and sleep for another few hours. It was in the middle of this roll that he finally realised that he had no idea where he was or why he was sleeping outside. At that thought, he sat bolt upright and looked frantically around for anything familiar.

That was when he noticed the woman from before, curled up next to him and stirring slightly in his absence. As he watched, her eyes opened slowly and she looked up at him. "Arthur?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper. "I wasn't sure you'd really come back."

"Am I really so forgettable?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

She laughed, bright and musical in the way only the magical can. "Of course not, my love. But having you back... I've dreamed of it for so long."

"Have you?" Arthur asked, smirking a little as he lay back down next to her. "I hope reality wasn't too disappointing."

His smirk only grew when she said, "Arthur, you were and are many things. But you have never been disappointing."

"Liar," he said, laughing a little despite himself. "I married you?"

The lady merely shook her head at him, and said, "Did you dream, my love?"

"I did," he said, turning his gaze to the sky. "I dreamed of you."

He felt her settle her head against his shoulder, and wrapped one arm around her. "You don't get enough of me while awake?" she asked, her voice still playful. "You needn't worry about that any longer."

"It was from before," he said, a small smile on his face as he remembered. "We used to ride, and leave everything behind. Do you remember?"

Her affirmative hum resonated above his heart, and he sighed, letting them fall into an easy, tranquil silence as he watched the sky. The barest hints of clouds blew overhead in wisps, and the sun shone down, warm on his skin.

It actually took him that long to realise he was completely naked. He wasn't surprised, of course, but usually he at least noticed. "Shall I go find my trousers, then?" he asked, lifting his head enough to meet her eyes.

"If you must," she replied, faking a pout. "But I'll just have to take them off again. And I'll never forgive you if you move right now."

Arthur shrugged, said, "Fair enough," and returned to watching the sky.

* * *

The first thing America thought of after they searched England's entire house was to pull out his laptop and call Tony on Skype. France looked curiously over his shoulder, but once he realized he only understood half the conversation, he gave up.

"Hey, that's great and all, but I got a favor to ask," America said to the little green alien, his grin shrinking a little. "Do you have that scan thing you used last time? You know, when I couldn't find Japan?"

The computer screen warbled a little. "Good. I need you to find England." There was a curious burble, and America huffed. "Look, it's nothing like that. He's missing. Never came to the meeting today." Another warble. "I'm not the only one worried."

France took the opportunity to peek over America's shoulder again. "So can he do it or non?" he asked, ignoring the sharp breath America took. "Because if he cannot, then there is very little point in arguing."

"He can, he just thinks I'm being stupid," America hissed.

Another unintelligible sound came from the laptop, and America breathed out, visibly relieved. "Thanks, dude," he said, as France watched the little alien start to type on his own computer. There was a pause, during which only the clacking of keys could be heard. The alien stopped, blinked, then started typing furiously again. After repeating this a few times, he babbled timidly at them again.

This time, America's jaw dropped, and it took him a moment before he cried, "What d'ya mean not on Earth?" France blinked rapidly, his eyes flicking back and forth between America and Tony. "Where else would he be?"

The screen switched to what appeared to be a screenshot of Tony's computer, and after a few commands were typed in, the nations watched some type of scan occur, running over the entire surface of a sphere that France assumed represented the Earth. It took a few minutes, then an error popped up.

"Okay, dude, something's wrong with your scan," America said. "There's no way that he just fell off the planet. I mean, he can't have..."  
The nation trailed off as the screen went black, and a message appeared across it in a pale green script.

You shall not have him

"Shit. Um, Tony? Dude?" America asked, staring blankly at the screen. "Dude, you still there?" The alien warbled at them again. "Yeah, I see it. And no, I got nothing. Did it do this before?" A short burble followed, and America thanked the alien, before closing his laptop and putting it away.

America turned to look at France, clearly shaken. "You got any ideas?" he asked the older nation. "You've known him longer than I have."  
"Non. Je ne sais rien," he said. "And I only know of a few people that might."

* * *

Arthur lay with his head on his lady's lap, eyes closed as she toyed gently with his hair. She had lamented that it was shorter than the last time she'd seen him, to which he'd only been able to respond, "Times change, love. I can't stop the world from turning."

When he'd asked, rather self-consciously, whether she wanted him to grow it out, she had laughed at him, told him it was still flattering enough, and he was able to relax again. How long ago that exchange had been, he didn't know, because there was no clear day or night, nor did his body appear to be keeping time for him.

"Are there no unicorns here?"

Her hands froze for a moment, when he broke the silence, but resumed their slow circles over his scalp half a moment later. "What would you need a unicorn for?" she asked, her voice just slightly more strained than before.

"Love, you've stolen me away to fairyland," Arthur said, opening one eye to look up at her. The corner of his mouth twitched, tuning his contented smile to a smirk. "Why aren't there unicorns?"

The lady sighed, shaking her head slowly even as a smile pulled at her mouth. "There are," she said, looking off towards the trees. "They just won't come near me."

"Well, I can't imagine why that would be." The lady glared playfully down at him, but he just laughed at the expression until she leaned down to kiss him again.

"Hush, you."

A while later, he turned to her and said, "You never told me where we are."

"I thought you'd know," she replied airily. "Fairyland, Arthur? Really?"

He shrugged. "I'm not as well versed in these sorts of things as some, but I can tell I'm not in England anymore."

She stared at him for a moment, before saying, "No. No you're not. Let me show you." With that, she pulled him to his feet, and they left the clearing, Arthur being dragged along by his lady in the most dignified way possible. Given the circumstances, of course.

When she finally slowed enough for him to find his footing and actually pay attention to what was around him, he startled a little. The scent on the wind, and the sound, were too familiar to be mistaken. "Is that...?"

"Of course," she said, swatting at him lightly. "What did you think we'd find?"

He blinked through the onslaught of memories that just the smell had brought back, and grinned back at her. "I had held out hope for the unicorns," he said, sighing melodramatically, "But this will do, I think."

She guided him the rest of the way out of the trees, to a rocky shoreline. There was a small strip of sand, just big enough to land a boat, and he looked curiously at the small rowboat that sat upside down just above the tide line.

"Do you ever go out?" he asked, gesturing to the boat, but she just shook her head. "Pity. I've come to like boats."

She squeezed his hand, then led him along a barely discernible path to the waterline. "You weren't much of a sailor when I knew you," she said, raising her voice to be heard as the wind picked up. "Do you know where we are now?"

"An island, I'd say," he called back. "But the waves are all wrong. And the wind."

Arthur bent down to trail his fingers through the water as it rushed up the rocks around his feet, while she watched him curiously. "Didn't he ever tell you? About the island where everything grows?"

"Oh," was all Arthur said for a moment. "I always thought there would be more apples. Silly me."

* * *

France and America stood warily on the doorstep, after both ringing the doorbell and knocking loudly enough to raise the dead. They were both starting to consider leaving, when a redheaded man, taller even than America, opened the door and glared at them.

"What d'ya want?" he asked, glaring down at the two nations on his doorstep. "If you got business, you'll be wanting my little shit of a brother. Can't imagine what could have brought you this way."

America bit his lip uncertainly, but France managed to look back up at the redhead and say, "That's just it, mon ami. Your brother has disappeared."

"Is that all?" the man asked, raising an eyebrow. "Or was there some other bit of nothing you have to bother me with?"

France and America looked at one another for a moment, before France turned to try again. "Sir, I don't think..."

"Scotland."

France blinked silently at him a few times before asking, "What?"

"Scotland. My name. Your brains boiled or something?" The redhead rolled his eyes dramatically. "So you want me to go find baby England for you? Sorry, not going to happen. Do it yourselves."

"We would!" America all but yelled, despite France's warning look. "I tried! But my sources are telling me he's not on the planet anymore!"

Scotland managed to stare at America for about two seconds before letting out a bark of a laugh and saying, "Whatever you're smoking, lad, I want some. Not on the planet, eh? That's a new one."

"As if we'd give you anything more to smoke," America grumbled, eyeing the half-empty pack of cigarettes Scotland had been fiddling with. "I'm not kidding. And if you don't believe me, I had a friend hack his security cameras. He ran out of his house this morning, apparently chasing one of those hallucinations of his."

France nodded when Scotland looked at him, then snatched the disk America offered him and stalked back into the house. The two foreign nations caught up to him as he was putting the disk into his laptop, after which he pulled out and lit one of his cigarettes.

"You smoke inside?" America asked, his disgust clear on his face. France shrugged, and went to open the windows nearest them. Scotland shot America a glare, but said nothing as he played the recording. He blinked once, at the point where the on-screen England started acting distracted, then cursed under his breath as the nation ran out the doors, leaving them as wide open as France and America had found them.  
Before either of the other nations could say anything, Scotland ran to the window and stuck his head out, screaming, "North! Get Wales, now! The little bairn's gone missing!"

"England?" The voice came from outside, and was muffled by the blind that Scotland had ducked under.

Scotland let out an audible sigh, then called back, "Who else? Now get going!"

After sharing a look, France and America decided they would be glad of the help, no matter how difficult the brothers turned out to be.

* * *

Back in the clearing, Arthur sat against a tree, sharing long, slow kisses with the lady seated in his lap.

"If I may be so bold, my lady?" he asked, pulling back to look into her eyes. For a moment, she seemed startled at his serious gaze, but she merely shrugged.

"You may," she said, returning his level stare with one of her own. "What is it?"

Arthur was unsure of how to ask his question without upsetting her. His previous attempts to ask about the rapidly filling holes in his memories had not been well received, but there was not a good alternative. "What happened at Camlann?"

"Camlann?" she asked, her voice wavering. Arthur saw her pale, and a pang of guilt hit him straight in the chest. "Why do you want to know?"

There was a pause, during which Arthur almost just dismissed the topic entirely. "The girl who brought me here," he said eventually, looking away as he scrambled for words, "She asked me where I was going. I said Camlann, but I didn't even know where that is. Why was I going there?"

"There was a battle," she said, and when he looked back up her gaze was far away. "An important one. I'm not entirely comfortable talking about it."

He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close, letting her cheek rest against his shoulder. "Was it that bad?" he asked, as he felt her trembling.

"You didn't come back," was the shaky, whispered response. All he could do was hold her tighter.


End file.
